It's Very Superstitious
by TakeAHike
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester hunt the things that go bump in the night,the things of nightmares,the things that people don't believe in.After the boys catch wind of two mysterious deaths,they're on the road to Salem,Massachusetts...[full summary inside]
1. Cursed

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the boys, wish I did though! Ha!

**Summary: **Sam and Dean Winchester hunt the things that go bump in the night, the things of nightmares, and the things that people usually don't believe in. After the boys catch wind of two mysterious deaths, they're on the road to Salem, Massachusetts to figure out what caused them and stop it from happening again. Days after they arrive in the sleepy town though, the brothers are left with little leads when the deaths start occurring again, all of which seem to be contained within the same family, forcing them to find answers and find them quickly. The longer they stay in the town, the more connections they find between their family and the victims family, on top of which Sam's nightmares make a serious come-back, a sign not to be taken lightly when they're visions of deaths that have yet to happen.

**T**his series takes place in the first season sometime between the episodes, "Scarecrow" and "The Benders". Therefore, the Winchester boys are still out searching for Papa Winchester (I mean John) and the thing that killed their mother. Please keep this in mind!!

Also, this particular story is also posted on Quizilla… that _is_ mine. Just incase some people find this one and think I'm stealing.

Anyway, have fun, reviews & feedback comments are always welcome!!

**----**

**Salem, MA**

Diner cooked slowly in a pot over the old stove, an appliance which seemed to match the rest of the home. A woman -- her eyes brown and her hair auburn -- who looked to be at least in her late 40's set a small table in the kitchen with three of everything before heading to the back door to call her husband for supper.

"John!" The woman called, hugging what looked like a sweater of the homemade kind closer to her tiny frame. "John, dinner is ready!"

John, a well proportioned man in his early 50's with graying hair and a small beer gut, worked in a less than lavish, unconnected garage just off to the side of the house. The old Mustang he had been working on slowly for close to ten months would eventually go to his oldest son as a birthday surprise sometime in July, two months from now. Since his decision to buy the scrapper off an old friend with too little time, he had been out in that garage, under the car's creaky hood toiling to get everything in place on time, and with the schedule of nine in the morning to ten-ish at night, everything seemed like it might finally pull together to his liking.

_'John!' 'John dinner is ready! '_

Tightening a bolt, John barely caught wind of the sound of his own name amid the clicking sound of the ratchet he was using. Pulling his head out from under the hood of the beat-up car, John wiped a grease smudge off the face of his watch with his forearm and glanced at the time, 10:28 pm.

"I'll be there in a minute!" John called back, stifling a yawn, the ratchet still in hand as he returned to tighten one last bolt under the hood that he knew needed to be tightened that night, lest he forget about it the next morning.

"Ratchet set... where's my ratchet set?" John wondered aloud, turning away from the car and scanning the wall racks for a sign of his missing tools. Shuffling over to a work bench a little ways away, John gave a frustrated sigh when the single light bulb above his head, the sole light source in the garage, began to flicker precariously. "Nothing's going to cooperate with me tonight, is it?" John muttered lowly, reaching up to give the light bulb a sharp rap with his fore-finger causing it to sway slightly on its string, still flickering away.

Unbeknownst to John, forgotten and shoved off to the side, was the piece of rusted sheet metal left over from a house repair job a couple years ago, that shuddered closer to the edge of slipping inexplicably from its perch in the rafters above him. Placing his ratchet, the one that belonged with the missing set, down on the top of the work bench as he searched the bottom shelf further, John shifted a box over slightly and in doing so, found the missing ratchet set.

"Aha!" He smiled, standing up straight, newly rediscovered ratchet set clutched triumphantly in hand, "I really ought to clean up in he-"

John however, didn't have time to finish because the sheet metal, shaking with one last heaving shudder, slipped with a scraping, screeching noise down from its perch. By the time John saw what had happened, it was far too late.

A clatter of the sheet metal against the stone floor echoed through the small garage, followed then by a hollow and dull thud, chased by yet another, softer thud, the ratchet set hitting the floor with a clank and clatter before everything was silenced and still.

**Meanwhile, inside the house **

Claire shuffled around impatiently, every once in a while pacing to the front door and peering out into the darkened street to see if her daughter had arrived, usually, with no luck though.

"Always late..." She muttered under her breath as she shook her head and ventured away from the front door and started to make her way back to the kitchen, "... Don't know how she manages that job of hers."

"_Showers later tonight are expected in the forecast. Tomorrow we'll be back to our normal sunny weather as summer is fast approaching..."_

Claire was half passed the living room when she paused, the television flicking on and the weather report reaching her ears loud and clear. After the initial shock wore off, Claire ventured into the living room, scooping up the remote off the coffee table she clicked the television off and replaced the remote where she had found it, turning to leave again to attend to the food that cooked in the kitchen.

"That television needs a surge protector..." Claire mumbled under her breath to herself as she reached the doorway of the living room, "John'll -"

Claire however, was cut off when the television turned itself back on. _"Thursday calls for clear skies and warm spring-like weather…"_

"Damned television..." Claire sighed in a frustrated manner, venturing once again into the now peculiarly ice-cold room, ignoring the remote and heading straight for the plug. Grasping the cord in her dainty hands, Claire tugged sharply, ripping it from the socket finally and letting it drop to the floor without care. "Like to see you turn yourself on now..." Claire muttered in a mocking fashion, straightening herself out and placing her hands firmly on hips. Waiting several seconds in silence and looking at the black screen, Claire seemed to be satisfied and was about to turn around when the television -- still unplugged-- turned itself on. This time nothing but static and snow graced the old screen.

Frightened, Claire quickly turned to escape the room, but upon turning, Claire froze, her eyes wide and her breath caught in her throat. The scream rising inside unable to leave her chest as the television winked out; plunging the room into darkness again.

---

**A half hour later **

"Bye Trev! See you tomorrow, thanks for the lift!"

A girl who looked to be no more than 22, with dark brown hair and beautifully radiant green eyes, stepped out of a beat-up little Red Sunfire. Holding a newspaper over her head in a futile manner, the girl laughed slightly, the already soaked paper was her only shelter against the relentless down pour that had started a half hour earlier. Closing the door behind herself, with a slight slam and a wobble, the girl stepped back and began to wave as the car pulled away. Watching the tail lights for another moment, the girl turned, beginning a mad dash through the puddles that had collected on the walk-way and up to her front door.

She knew she was half an hour late for dinner with her parents, but she supposed that they had eaten without her anyway. In fact, she was quite surprised to find the front door still unlocked when she reached it and turned the handle, freely gaining access to a house that was usually locked and secured by 10:50 pm… even to its own occupant's family.

"Mum...?" The girl called, shivering slightly as she stepped into the quiet house and closed the door behind herself. Throwing the soggy newspaper onto the small table in the foyer, the girl shrugged off a coat that obviously belonged to a man before venturing further into the house; taking in the silence precariously.

Following a glow of a light, the girl soon found herself in the kitchen. A table set neatly for three still sat undisturbed as a pot on the stove boiled over with an angry whine, the smell of its burned contents drifting freely around the abandoned room as the girl rushed to turn the stove off.

The whole situation was getting more curious by the moment; it was highly unlike her mother to leave the stove unattended… this was strange, even letting alone the fact that the front door was unlocked. Giving a slight sigh, the girl stole the pot off the burner by its handle and headed over to the sink, turning the faucet on and sticking the warm pot under the cool water to mitigate the heat it was emitting before dropping it in the sink. Sharply turning off the water, the girl was about to close the blinds on the window over the sink when something strange caught her eye outside, something sticking out like a sore thumb against the dark and stormy sky.

A flickering light in the garage a couple feet away from the main house…

'_Dad's been working late again...'_ she thought to herself, shaking her head as she snapped the blinds closed, _he_ would know what was going on and why things were so weird that night.

Heading to the back door, the girl flipped the switch for the side light and grabbed an umbrella that had been abandoned at the side from a previous rain ridden day. Pushing open the door with little difficulty and dismissing the idea of a jacket when she opened the umbrella and held it up over her head, the girl stepped outside and swiftly closed the door behind herself. Sopping her way out to the garage where the light continued to flicker, the girl watched the light through the window as it stopped flashing once in a while and then starting back up again just as quickly.

The first thing the girl quickly noticed when she entered the garage was the nauseating smell.

"Dad..." the girl called cautiously as she delved deeper into the workplace, shuffling around the car towards the flickering light bulb and closing up the umbrella as she got closer. Reaching the light bulb, the girl quickly gave the glass a couple taps with her finger nail before it went out completely.

"Great," she muttered to herself lowly, rolling her eyes as she began to reach around in the dark for the box of spare light bulbs that her father usually kept handy on a nearby work bench. Feeling her way to the work bench, the girl wasted no time in beginning to search for the spare light bulb box stored somewhere among its clutter. Letting her fingers search and graze over everything lightly on the top shelf, the girl skipped her search to the bottom shelf where she began her search again there. Half way through her grazing and skimming though, her fingers brushed something that felt like it didn't belong, fur of some kind as far as she could tell.

Bringing her fingers back over the object again, her mind quickly reeled to figure out what it was. In a moment, her mind clung to something specific… it was probably another one of the neighbourhood cats who had given birth to a litter of kittens in the warmth of the garage.

In fact, it wouldn't have been the first time it had happened; she didn't doubt that it would happen again… that would probably warrant the bad smell as well. Momentarily dismissing the idea of searching for the light bulbs, the girl crouched low and began to talk to the animal. "C'mon sweetheart..." she cooed in a soothing manner, patting the animal on its furry body. From the past experience, it was the best way to deal with an animal…

The girl's codling however, was disturbed when the light bulb over head flickered and blazed, splashing light onto the animal that had decided to seek refuge in the garage this time around.

Upon seeing what it was though, the girl realized that it wasn't a cat at all, in fact, it wasn't even an animal. It was a something not nearly as agreeable as a mother giving birth to a litter of kittens… it was a severed human head. Retracting her hand swiftly, the girl looked upon the head, its eyes fixed and glassy on the far wall, in another moment of pure horror, the girl recognized the head. There, sitting on the dirty garage floor, settled in a rather large pool of blood, was her father's severed head.

Taking a deep breath the girl reeled back, screaming shrilly as she looked at the head in a mix of fear and sickness, her horrified shrieks contained within the garage as the thunder outside rolled and rain pelted the dusty window panes.


	2. The Family Business

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the boys, wish I did though! Ha!

**T**his series takes place in the first season sometime between the episodes, "Scarecrow" and "The Benders". Therefore, the Winchester boys are still out searching for Papa Winchester (I mean John) and the thing that killed their mother. Please keep this in mind!!

Also, this particular story is also posted on Quizilla… that _is_ mine. Just incase some people find this one and think I'm stealing.

Anyway, have fun, reviews & feedback comments are always welcome!!

---

**A day later; somewhere outside of Missouri.**

A smokey bar filled with a couple bikers, truckers and stale sandwiches played host to a make-shift poker game. Bent cards, highly circulated and mistreated bills and even worse players occupied the small bar table in the middle of the bustling goings on of a regular trucker bad around the group of five men. The pot placed – heaping -- in the middle of the wobbly surface consisted of at least $600 and three, two dollar coupons, one for an IHOP and the other two from some unknown restaurant most of the players had never heard of. Each however, played greedily for it, eyeing it as often as they held a supposedly winning hand and from the looks of things, the men that occupied the table had been playing for some time. The number of empty beer glasses scattered around the players could attest to that much if not anything else.

"Well, gentlemen," the youngest of the players started, turning his cards face down on the table as he stood and fixed his worn brown leather jacket with a smug gesture. "I'd hate to take your money and leave, but it's getting late, the little lady wants me home, and it had to happen sometime..."

Grabbing the bills off the table and pocketing the coupons swiftly, the man was quick to head for the door, abandoning the inner workings of a drunk's haven. Pushing open the creaky bar door and quick-stepping down the front stairs, the gravel of the parking lot crunched under his feet in a satisfactory way as he made his way to his car. As the door of the bar swung closed behind him, the blaring biker music became muffled to the man's ears, now that a door separated him from the dingy establishment he counted the wad of bills happily, chuckling to himself.

"Six hundred, and five, even…" the man sighed gleefully while he approached an old, black Chevy Impala that sat parked far enough away from the dingy bar. Sloshing through a puddle, the man crunched up to the driver's side, opening the door with a squeak of the hinges and climbed into the car, closing it again with the same squeak and a slight slam before fixing his jacket again. Shoving the money unceremoniously into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, the man slowly looked over to the passenger seat, an eyebrow raised.

"How's the research coming along there, Sammy?" he questioned after a moment of looking at the person who occupied the seat, eyeing the silver laptop positioned on the passenger's lap momentarily. The white glow of the screen lit up certain parts of the passenger's face and clearly displayed how tired the man sitting aside the gambler actually was.

"I've been looking through a couple interesting things in the newspaper from this morning, but there's this article about a homicide and a suicide in Salem, Massachusetts that I keep coming back to," Sam echoed in reply, momentarily looking up at the other man, who just so happened to be his brother.

"Dude, people get depressed, kill themselves. It happens..." the man started with a shrug, "life is just crap sometimes. People deal in their own way, this isn't our thing…"

"Not like this Dean," Sam retorted, folding the screen of the laptop down and picking up a section of newspaper on the black leather bench seat in beside him. Handing the section to his brother as he spoke, Sam cleared his throat as if ready to recite a speech. "Daughter comes home for dinner with the family, goes out to the garage, and finds her dad decapitated by a piece of sheet metal. Police get there on the report of the dad and find her mom, Claire Benson, hung in the living room. They end up writing the mom off as a suicide, and with no evidence of murder, forced entry or foul play, they write off the dad as a household accident."

"Maybe they just pissed off the wrong people," Dean replied with a slight scoff, taking the paper in hand and scanning the article quickly with a ruffle. "I hear the mob still get their hits in."

"Yeah, but why only two, Dean? Why only the parents and not the daughter?" Sam interjected meaningfully, stealing back the paper swiftly, impatiently.

"Alright, fine. Let's say this is our kind of thing… pissing off the wrong people might single you out for a deadly rampage. Conjured or not." Dean muttered again, yanking the article back and flipping to the next page where the article continued. "Or it could just be a hoax, an insurance scam or something... Hell the daughter would get quite the pretty penny, even if she couldn't collect off the suicide."

"It could be a hoax," Sam repeated, contemplating the thought, handing Dean the benefit of the doubt if only for a moment, "or it could be the truth; the real deal. Wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've seen…"

There was a moment of prolonged silence in the car before anyone spoke up.

"We're putting off Delaware than, huh?" Dean questioned, folding up the paper finally and tossing it to the seat again before fishing the keys for the car from his coat pocket. Mashing the jingling keys into the ignition and turning it sharply, the engine roaring to life and began to purr afterwards, a sound that was absolute music to Dean's trained ears.

"I think we should at least check into it," Sam confirmed, glancing at his watch momentarily and blinking to clarify his perception which lack of sleep had sadly deprived him of. "From here it's what, seventeen hours?"

"We can get there in fifteen. Gee Sammy, sometimes I think you forget who you're driving with," Dean shook his head, glancing over at Sam, a smirk clearly etched into his features before he looked away to put the car in reverse. Quickly shifting the car into drive thereafter, the Impala tore out of the gravel parking lot and with a rumble of the Chevy's engine peeled onto the interstate.

---

**Almost a day later; the 'La Luna' motel. Salem, MA.**

"The obituary in the paper says the funeral is tomorrow, we could probably slip in during the reception. Start asking around about the family, find the daughter, ask her about what she saw." Dean contemplated aloud, dropping a duffle bag filled with his belongings --which were mostly clothes, save for the few guns he had brought with him from the car and hidden -- onto a musty old lounge-like couch that sat, squished onto one of the far walls of the small room.

Sam and Dean had arrived at the hotel in less time than either of them had expected, it had only taken them thirteen and a half hours to get into Massachusetts. The last half hour was dedicated strictly to passing through Boston in order to reach the outskirts of Salem, where they located the closest motel. In most cases, the motels were always the cheapest ones, this one was no exception… walking into the room felt like stepping into a ripple in time leading all the way back to a horrible time in the 70s when orange and yellow were the 'in' colours.

The _La Luna_ motel.

Checking in and paying the gruff, sleep deprived and unhygienic looking man at the front counter with the credit card of a one 'Darren Faulds,' the brothers wasted no time in getting to their room. Even between the driving shifts -- upon which one would sleep while the other drove -- the journey to Salem was nothing but tiring; rest on their minds as soon as they pulled into the dingy motel's parking.

"And our cover is what?" Sam questioned incredulously, doing much the same with his bag as he entered the room and shut to door behind himself. Passing a table that played host to a well out-dated, plastic covered lamp, Sam flicked it on and placed the bag which held his laptop in it, on it. The lamp was orange as was the rest of the appliances and furniture in the room, but it still worked well, as if it was new, shedding light throughout the room and dispelling the darkness that encroached from outside.

"Look Sam, all I'm saying is, we can look through Dad's journal all we want, but it's not going to help us until we get some facts. Find out what exactly is happening here." Dean reasoned, walking to the farthest bed and beginning to turn down the covers, ready to call it quits for the night without so much as another thought on his theory.

A leather bound, bulging and aged book with jumbled entries and articles collected for the better part of twenty-two years and stuck carelessly onto blank spaces of the pages comprised half of 'Dad's Journal.' The other half of the book was comprised completely of self notes and unanswered questions, naval coordinates and local legends scribbled hastily by John Winchester himself. It was and had been a help with anything and everything Dean and Sam had faced thus far: Curses, vengeful spirits, wendigos; the normal things for them, the daily life. Sam knew Dean was right, however; even if he didn't want to admit it, there was no point in searching for something they couldn't identify. It was a waste of perfectly good resources.

"We might have a bit of a hard time talking to anyone from the immediate family. Especially after the funeral," Sam pointed out, an opinion which received a somewhat acknowledged grunt from Dean who had slipped under the forest green covers already. Reaching over and placing his cell phone on the bedside table before rolling over again, Dean groaned; already his shirt lie abandoned at the bottom of the bed along with his pants, clunky boots and coat which were strewn in different locations on his side of the room.

"I'm working on it," Dean muttered after a moment of silence, shifting his head on the pillow, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

Rolling his eyes and scoffing, Sam paced over to the bed closest to where he stood, and began getting ready to turn in as well. As bad as the motel looked, the bed seemed far too comfortable to resist for much longer, his heavy eyes pushing his desire for sleep further up his list of priorities. Stifling a yawn, Sam dug the journal out of the duffle bag of clothes he carried, weighing it in his hand for a moment before glancing at the bed seriously.

"Hey, college boy, lights out." Dean grumbled from the far bed, his voice muffled, his back presented to Sam without much thought.

A few moments later, Sam had made up his mind and the leather bound journal sat beside Dean's cell on the nightstand. Settling under the forest green covers that greatly contrasted the peach carpet running throughout the entire room, Sam sighed, the bed felt good under his tired muscles, aching body. As nice as it was, the Impala was not the best sleeping quarters, especially with the engine's noise.

"You're seriously thinking about a plan?" Sam muttered; worry a slight undertone in his voice as he spoke.

"Shut up, Sam. I'm thinking." Dean growled impatiently, pulling the covers up higher on himself and readjusting the pillow under his head.

Giving a small, tired chuckle, Sam rolled away from Dean and reached up flicking off the light switch that resided on the wall within arms length of his bed.


End file.
